


The Wilds

by Hollowsonthebrain (Wrathernice)



Category: The Hollows - Kim Harrison
Genre: Allusions to Violence, Canon, F/F, Other, Post-Turn, Pre-happy ending, all original characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9484406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathernice/pseuds/Hollowsonthebrain
Summary: Lacey the Were wakes up in a strange house covered in injuries. Her savior turns out to be a human woman who lives in the Wilds, the space between cities abandoned after the Turn. Lacey is an outcast now, kicked out of her pack, and she sets to making a new life on Nicki's little rural homestead, but there are reasons no one lives in the in-between, and Lacey soon realizes that Nicki has dangerous secrets.AN: As said in the tags, this is entirely made up of original characters, though the main characters will be mentioned and it's canon, with the possibility of a few original additions. It sprung from curiosity-- what is out in between cities? Then: Who would be the least likely person to live out there? My brain took it from there. This is a slow-going work, as I've just started writing it, and I don't have internet at home so updates will be sporadic, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.





	1. Chapter 1

A sizzle, a thump, and some creative cursing woke me; my instincts brought me bolt upright. A sharp pain dragged me down again, back arching and muscles screaming at the shock of it. As soon as I realized I was moaning, I clamped down on it, closing my eyes to listen and inhaling deeply. I caught the scent of burnt coffee, worn leather and something pungent and organic that wasn't bane; opening my eyes, I glanced around the unfamiliar room. As far as I could tell, there was no ribbon draped over the mirror, no redwood scent, no vampire incense; a human lived here, it dawned on me. _What in the seven hells am I doing in a human's house?_

I tried to sit up again, but even moving slowly, it hurt badly enough that I knew I was really damaged by-- whatever had happened to me. I cast my mind back, trying to remember what I had been doing the night before.

“Good, you're awake,” a woman's voice said, and I turned my head, wincing as my skin pinched. What was wrong with my neck? “But you should really lie back down. You were in terrible shape when I found you.”

The woman was neither short nor tall, and when I looked away, I had already forgotten her face. I studied it carefully, trying to remember: an utterly medium nose, not upturned, not crooked; medium brown hair pulled back into a sensible, fashionless ponytail; medium weight. Medium, medium, medium. The only things about her that stood out at all were her voice, which held the potential for song and sorrow both, and her eyes, a startling grey so dark they looked like they'd rain any moment.

“I meant it when I said you should lie down. The injuries you have won't heal right off, even with two days of sleep under your belt.” Her soft voice held a faint warning, and she moved closer to the bed, holding a mug out to me. “I figured black until told otherwise.”

I ignored the caution and straightened-- slowly. It hurt just to breathe. I took the mug, the smell of the coffee going straight to my pleasure centers; I inhaled deeply, then sipped, humming at the rich blend. “Black is perfect. Now, who are you? And where are we?”

She sighed. “The movies have that part right, at least.” I raised my eyebrows at her, surreptitiously taking a sniff. She smelled of redwood, but I'd have staked my tail that she wasn't a witch. No, she might have an amulet somewhere, but she was human. “My name is Nicki. And we're about twenty miles south of Kankakee.

“Kankakee?” I said, yelping as my muscles tensed, setting off a chain reaction of hurts. No one had lived in Kankakee since the Turn-- they'd all moved north to Chicago or south to Springfield. And if we were south of Kankakee... “You live in the Wilds? But you're human!”

“And you're a Were,” she said equitably. “The difference is, I've been living out here for years, and last I checked, I'm alive. When I found you, you were nearly dead.” Her mouth moved in what might have been a smile. “Why were you out this way, anyway? Most packs don't range this far, even during the full moons.”

I looked away from her stormy eyes. “I don't know.”

She took this in with a minute grunt, then said, “You know your name, at least?”

I tilted my head at her. “You don't? It's on my pack tattoo.”

It was her turn to look away. Reaching to the vanity for a small mirror, she held it out to me, and murmured, “You don't have one.”

I blinked, my hand automatically taking the mirror. I looked down at it, not understanding. “I don't--” Suddenly feeling shaky, I lifted the small circle and aimed it at my neck. Where my tattoo-- a silver maple adorned with bones and my name beneath-- had once been, there was a red and raw rectangle, seeping blood and smeared in white paste. My stomach soured, and I tasted bile in the back of my throat. With effort, I mastered the impulse to retch. When I could speak, I couldn't say much. “They-- it-- they removed me from the pack.”

She made another of her little grunts. “Rather violently, based on your injuries. I found three cracked ribs, several hairline fractures on your ulna under some bite punctures, torn back and shoulder muscles, a large abrasion on the back of your skull-- I can't tell if you have a concussion because of the swelling-- and multiple bite lacerations on your calves.”

The urge to vomit came again. They had hunted me. They had set me loose, chased me down, cut off my tattoo, and left me for dead. The Bone Tree pack was a rural pack-- meaning its members were spread through several subdivisions on the outskirts of Springfield-- and used fiercer methods than most to keep their widespread members in line in lieu of everyday closeness, but this was unprecedented, to my knowledge. And all because...

I shook my head. Now that my tattoo had been cut off, the scar would be a sign to others: I was a reject, and no pack was likely to include me ever again. In Were society, that was a bad thing to be. And it would be best for me to stay out here; loners were respected, for the most part, but rejects were treated like curs by even the lowest of the pack-- any pack. If I went home-- or anywhere-- it would be open season.

“It's Lacey.” My voice was rough with bitter knowledge.

“What is?” Nicki lifted an eyebrow.

“My name. It's Lacey.”

Unexpectedly, she started chuckling. “Lacey the Were. Is that like Cuddles the vampire or Dandelion the demon?”

Despite myself, I felt a smile quirk my lips. I'd been teased for my name all my life, but something about the way she'd said it told me she didn't mean it as an insult. I chanced another sip of coffee, but it seemed to settle my stomach rather than provoke it. It gurgled in response, and my thoughts turned to food. How long had it been since I'd eaten?

Almost as if she'd heard me thinking, Nicki said, “I'll cook you up something, but you should probably wait on the bed until the bane gets here. Sitting at a table eating is going to use those neck muscles and strain that arm, and walking is going to make the sutures in your calves pinch. I'm still not sure about your head. I don't need you throwing up on my carpet before you've even had a bite.”

Several questions crossed my brain at once. “Are you a nurse? And where would a human get bane? Who would deliver all the way out here?” A last thought caused a spike of panic. “It's not a Were delivering, is it?”

She closed her eyes, as if she was summoning patience. “No, but I had some medical training. And I have sources. And no, this one's not a Were. He's a warlock.”

“So he's the one who activates your amulets?” I asked.

Nicki's unremarkable face seemed to lose its tension and go blank. “When I need them,” she said, her melodic voice turning toneless. “He has some pain amulets. I can ask him to invoke one for you if you like.”

“I-- Sure. Thanks,” I said, uncertain what I had said to make her turn so businesslike. I'd used a pain amulet before; they worked, and didn't have a time delay like bane. The hurts I had managed to ignore during our conversation crept back into my awareness at the reminder.

“Alright. You should lie back down until he gets here, or at least not stand. There are some books on the nightstand if you get bored, and the remote to the sound system is in the drawer.” She turned to leave.

“I'm sorry,” I blurted before she could disappear.

“What for?” she asked, but the look in her storm-cloud eyes was a signal that she didn't want an answer, and she vanished into the hall.

The books on the nightstand ended up being an interesting variety; there was one on engineering, one romance novel with a strangely chaste woman on the cover, and surprisingly, a copy of _Ender's Game_. The book had come out in the mid-80s, after the Turn, and the author had been accused of xenophobia by Inderland, claiming that the buggers had been modeled after them. Anyone who actually read the book would understand that it was about blind fear of the “other” and living with the consequences of acting on that fear, but hearsay among the Inderlanders had been enough to create a media storm. The author had resorted to publishing the sequels through anonymous means, and they were hard to find.

I was quarter way through it, a bluegrass artist singing about a lost dog from the expensive media player, when I heard a male voice. It sounded like my alpha for a moment, and I tensed. Had Nicki turned me in? Further talk from the other end of the hall eased my shoulders. Now that I could hear more, I knew it wasn't him. Besides, my pack had left me out to die; even if he knew where I was, why would he come?

Hearing two sets of feet coming down the hall, I pretended to read, my bruised head laid gingerly against a stack of pillows so I didn't have to bend my neck. I would be glad of that pain amulet; the longer I'd sat here, the more my neck burned, and my arm had begun to ache from holding up the book.

He knocked on the doorway and came in, a skinny guy with an Adam's apple that bobbed with every word and gapped teeth. “I'm Joe. May I come in?”

I waved him in with my non-fractured arm and set the book face-down to mark my spot. Nicki was behind him with a jar and an amulet. He opened the jar and held it to his nose, taking in a big sniff, then, to my surprise, took a pinch an put it in his mouth. He then held it out to me. I noticed his other arm ended in a stump about halfway down his forearm. I took it, the welcome scent of the bane seeming to ease my pain from smell alone. Nicki handed him the amulet, and he drew a small finger stick from his pocket, pricking his stump. He rubbed it on the amulet, enclosed it in his hand, and then passed that to me as well. I sighed as my fingers closed over it, eyes closing involuntarily at the relief.

He nodded to me, then left. I heard what I assumed to be the front door a few moments later, and then an engine turning over. As it revved and motored away, I looked at Nicki in confusion. “He doesn't care much for the niceties, huh?”

That little almost-smile sprang back to her face. “Actually, he very much does. He was showing you that they weren't spelled with anything dangerous before giving them to you.” She took the jar from my lap. “I'll make you tea. How much do you usually take?”

I explained my regular dose, asked her to double it, and watched her leave the room, feeling troubled. Joe and Nicki had moved around each other with familiarity; they knew each other, or worked with each other fairly often, and yet he had still demonstrated the safety of the items. This could only mean that though they were together on a regular basis, they didn't fully trust each other.

Either living out here in the Wilds was truly that dangerous, or Nicki and/or Joe were involved in something that required paranoia, or they thought I was in danger. Or maybe-- and this was the really troubling part-- it was all three.


	2. Chapter 2

I spent the next few days in hell.

First, Nicki came to me with supplies for making a cast, which she did with sure hands tough with calluses. This was the best of all of it, because it didn't hurt.

The next day, she came in with what looked like surgical scissors and told me to lay on my stomach. The stitches came out of my calves one by one, with a snip and a stinging yank. I lost count of the little pinches, and when I asked how many there'd been, she only gave me a look that told me I didn't want to know.

I had already seen myself in the mirror; there was a full-length one on the back of the bathroom door. My neck was a raw mess. My brown eyes had bags under them, and my oval face was swollen and misshapen under dirtier-than-normal blonde curls. My figure, usually curvy, had thinned from three days unconsciousness, and even my untrained eyes could see the pattern of bruising and where my ribs were fractured. They were the only thing that had kept me from twisting around to see the damage to my calves.

My head and the flayed patch on my skin throbbed with every heartbeat through all of it, even with the pain amulet and the bane dulling the worst aches. I was bed-bound until she was sure my head would be alright, so the little room started to close in on me; even my trips to the bathroom were a short distance. Nicki brought me the sequels to _Ender's Game_ , so I wasn't completely bored, but the forced captivity started to chafe.

And then my neck began to itch.

“The skin is growing back, and you won't do yourself any favors by scratching,” Nicki said sensibly as she covered the wound in a bandage, securely taping it around the edges. “Even rubbing will do it harm, understand?”

I grumbled my acknowledgment with bad grace. She left, murmuring about bane tea, and guilt set in. No one had asked her to take me and nurse me back to health. She could have just left me, and then she wouldn't have had to spend whatever chunk of money it had cost for the bane and the amulet, or the casting supplies, or the food I was eating. Given the way she came in every morning hunting for clothes, I was pretty sure I was even in her bed. I thought back over the last few days, and even with the bane haze, I was sure I hadn't thanked her. My head was hanging when she returned with the tea.

“Lacey?” she questioned, her expressive voice showing concern. “Are you okay?” I heard the clink of the mug being set on the glass-topped vanity, and she quickly crossed the room to me. Fingers gently lifted my chin, and her dark grey eyes examined me with worry.

My cheeks flushed. “I'm fine. I just--” I looked away, feeling ashamed. “Nicki, you've done all this for me, a total stranger, and I haven't even said thank you.”

“Oh. That,” she said. Looking thoughtful, she sat on the edge of the bed. She was quiet for a few moments, her fingers pulling at each other in what I thought was uncharacteristic uncertainty. “The way I see it, you weren't ready.”

I looked at her with disbelief. “It didn't matter if I was ready, I should have.”

She waved that away. “By society's rules? Sure. But I don't live in society. And I saw the look on your face when you realized what your pack had done. If you'd said thank you, you'd have had to face it, right then and there, because we have to admit that we needed help to thank someone for it. You weren't ready to face it-- and I'm glad, because throwing up with a head injury and torn muscles is hell.”

That little barely-there smile was back, and I held onto the scrap of humor gratefully. She was right; thinking about what had happened to me made me feel sick to my stomach, but I was better able to bear it with the distance of a few days. “Well.. Thank you.”

She gave me a graceful nod of the head in reply, then stood to retrieve the tea. Before she left, I had one more question.

“Why did you do it? Why are you helping me?”

She turned, a mischievous glint forming in her dark eyes. “Because I've always been the girl who couldn't resist taking in strays.” Before I could take offense, she left, and I had a feeling that wasn't the real answer.

* * *

Later that day, after a gentle but thorough examination of my head, she declared me ready to be out of bed. I stood shakily, curious to see the rest of the house; all I'd seen so far was the bedroom, the hallway, and the bathroom. Walking next to me in a silent offer of support if I needed it, Nicki was murmuring instructions.

“It's not a good idea to go out after dark, but once it's the full moon again, I'll leave that up to you. The whole compound is fenced, and you'll need a remote to open the gate once you're feeling up to it.”

We reached the end of the hall, and I stopped in surprise. It had opened onto a large living room, furnished in leather recliners and couch, with cherry wood end tables and a thick, burnished oak coffee table. The lighting was dim, coming from crystal lamps perched on the tables, and the throw pillows looked plush and inviting. The furniture was expensive, and the carpet soft under my feet, speaking of extra money spent on a thick carpet pad and fine threads.

I looked through to the kitchen, separated by a wall with a bar cut into it and reached by a doorless walk-through; a state-of-the-art refrigerator blinked with blue indicator lights, and a double-oven gleamed next to polished brown marble counter tops. An island even had a trash compactor built in.

And contrasting oddly with the quiet wealth of the rooms, thick silver bars were in every window.

“What do you think?” Nicki asked, and I thought I smelled nervousness.

I thought she had a lot more money than she let on. She dressed modestly, with worn t-shirts and tank tops with high-cut necks, always under a hooded sweatshirt, jeans that looked like they'd come off the rack at Wal-Mart, and no make-up to speak of. She wore no jewelry, not even earrings, and her bathrobe was a sorry sight, but looking between the rooms and the investment they represented, thinking of the pricey sound system in her bedroom, I started to wonder.

“Bars?” was all I ended up saying.

“A deterrent, mostly,” she said, making a gesture that gave me the run of the rooms. “If the fence doesn't do it, usually the bars will.”

“Usually?” I questioned, thinking of what might try to get in despite the heavy silver.

“They're spelled against tampering, but there are a couple species that aren't affected. Haven't had a break-in in over six months, though.”

The pride in her voice had me worried. If six months was a time frame to be proud of, just how regularly was she under siege? When I finally looked at her, she was watching me with amusement. “I live in the in-between. What did you expect?”

“Fair point,” I acknowledged, looking around once more. There were shutters on the insides of the windows, as well. “Doesn't it feel like a prison?”

Nicki shrugged as she walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out ingredients. “Sometimes. But I normally get out enough during the day that it's not so bad come nightfall.” She moved to a large free-standing cupboard and grabbed a couple of boxes. “Winters aren't fun, though.”

“Winters, huh? How long have you been out here?”

Again, one of my questions had set her on edge. I saw her stiffen ever so slightly and the tiniest hesitation before she began chopping an onion. “Oh, a couple of years.” Her voice had gone bland again.

Against my better judgment, I kept at it. “Why are you even out here? Most vamps won't even come out this far.”

A small pause. “Various reasons. Most of them tying into a story that's too long and boring to relate.”

Somehow I doubted that, but her tone had grown a warning. “What's out there?” I asked, pointing to the door in the corner of the kitchen.

She looked up for a moment to see where I was indicating, then bent her head back to her task. “Garden. Better ask before you go look around in it. It's tended by pixies.” She glanced at me briefly. “And put the amulet on the outside of your shirt. If you sweat on it too much, it'll be ruined.”

There was implicit permission there, so I walked to it and pulled it open. Before I exited, I glanced back at her. She was full of surprises, this plain, mundane woman chopping veggies; most humans didn't know what bane was, much less what it was used for, and her mention of the charms on the bars and her comfort handling amulets said she was familiar with witch magic. There were pixies in her garden, she was rich, and she had a taste for heavily philosophical science fiction. And she clearly had secrets.

I stepped into the afternoon sun, closing my eyes at the comforting warmth of it, though the humidity of the outdoors choked me. When I opened them, my jaw threatened to drop. The “garden” was bigger than the house, and it hosted neat rows with advanced sprouts, stalks of corn, and four massive tomato plants heavy with green fruit, among other things. A human who grows tomatoes? I wondered if she ate them, too.

A dark blur streaked toward me, and before I could react, was hovering in front of my face. “Halt!” it squeaked, wings shrilling in an alert of some kind. I didn't dare move, but I saw other dark, small figures rise into the air around me. I studied him; he was black-haired, rare and dangerous for a pixy. More rejects, I thought, seeing a theme to Nicki's chosen friends. “You're the Were,” he said, waving a sword that looked small to me, but I knew would hurt. Pixies could reach places you really didn't want in pain.

“I'm Lacey,” I said cautiously. Nodding to his clan, I asked. “Am I allowed to move?”

“We've been told about you,” he said agreeably. “But keep those clodhopper feet out of the rows.” A hiss sounded from his wings, and as quickly as they'd appeared, the clan flew away again. As I watched, some ventured to the tall chain link around the property, while others dipped down to do battle with weeds, and still others flew out of sight around the house.

“They're very neat,” I said, attempting conversation after the disconcerting show of force. “Your family tends them well.”

Even under his suspicious brows, I saw him swell with pride. “I have twenty-six children.”

I raised my eyebrows in appreciation of the size of the horde and his skill. “A good provider.”

He grinned. “I'm Brigg.”

I nodded my head to him, since I couldn't shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.” I surveyed the garden again, noticing a patch dedicated to herbs and another to flowers, both flourishing in the summer heat. “She keeps the flowers for your family?”

He nodded energetically. “You know about pixies,” he said, sounding impressed. “She added the flowers when we moved in, and once we gather the pollen, she sells them.”

“Well,” I said, ducking my head, “I took a gardening class at the local college. The professor included a whole week on pixies and fairies.”

“Chah!” he spat, a look of disgust on his face. “Ruddy fairies.”

I nodded, smiling inwardly. The professor had stressed that though they looked similar, pixies and fairies did not mix. “There won't be any here, not with your clan holding,” I said. Okay, maybe I was sucking up to him, but my mom had angered a pixy clan once, and we'd itched for a week.

Mom. I wouldn't be able to see her again. If I went back home, she might give me a chance to take my things out of the house, but she wouldn't speak to me. My mom's great sin had always been pride, and I had shamed her by defying our alpha. “It was really nice to meet you,” I told the pixy, needing to sit down. He saluted to me with the sword, and was gone.

There was a little wooden bench next to the house and I eased myself onto it, feeling the aches of my torn muscles. My head chimed in, and my neck and legs, too, until I was a bundle of throbs and stabs. Work was going to be hell.

Oh, god, my job. I was surely fired and already replaced; accounting firms didn't appreciate tardiness, and there were always more fresh faces. Even if I still had a job, I couldn't go back. The staff was half Weres, and so was my boss. I would become the office equivalent of the person who shovels the pig shit.

I realized that I now had no job, no home, no family, and no pack; when I lifted my hands, they were shaking. My world in the last week had condensed down to the little bubble of Nicki's bedroom, and now that I was outside, my life was coming back into view. A fine tremble had settled into my muscles, and I felt the tears welling as I realized how isolated I really was. I couldn't go back to any of my old friends, either, because they were all Weres. The sun beat down on my shoulders as a sob shook me, but at least I was warm as it hit me that my life as I'd known it was over.

* * *

Nicki called me in for dinner a couple hours before sunset. She seemed subdued, even for her, as we dug into the french onion soup and pasta. The sauce was made with tomatoes from the garden, she'd told me, and was rich with herbs and subtle spices, with diced venison mixed in. I hadn't eaten so richly since before my injuries, my bed-rest fare having been mostly made up of chicken noodle soup and toast, and I couldn't help the small moans as the flavors coated my tongue.

“You're feeling better.” Her low, melodic voice held amusement and sympathy.

I didn't know how she had known about me crying in the garden, but when I'd walked in after enough time for my eyes to get back to normal, she'd smiled at me and told me to blame it on the onions.

“This is really good,” I said between bites, and though it wouldn't make sense to anyone else, she seemed to accept it as an answer. Damn her, she'd been right about sitting at a table; my shoulders were killing me. I shifted the pain amulet from the top of my shirt to where it touched my chest and sighed with the lifting of some of the ache.

“I think you should probably go lie down after we eat,” she said, seeing the motion.

“I'll be bored out of my mind,” I replied, relinquishing my fork in concession. I could eat more, but my shoulders hurt too much to keep holding it. “The books don't hold themselves, and I don't think I can.”

She smiled in a quiet way, reaching across the small table for my plate and bowl. “You won't have to,” she assured me, and made a shooing motion as she started the tap. “I'll wash up, and then I'll be in.”

Relieved at the permission to go be useless, I stood haltingly, my back panging with the motion. I wobbled my way down the hallway, using the wall as support as I found myself in a dangerous lean. I settled gingerly on the bed, then leaned back on the pillows and closed my eyes.

I didn't even realize I was falling asleep; when I felt fingers at the back of my head, I woke abruptly, a flash of fear shoving my hands instinctively back in defense. I felt ridged skin next to smooth for a brief moment, and then when Nicki's scent registered I realized I must have just hit her in the face. Heart pounding, I covered my eyes with my hands. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, you just-- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” Panic was beating at my chest, and anxiety threatened to make my words a mantra.

“It's okay,” she said, though I noticed she said it from a few feet back, out of arm's reach.

“No, it's not--” I started, but I was cut off.

“Yes, it is,” she said firmly, and I heard her approach. She gently pried my fingers from my cheeks and lifted my chin so I would look at her. “Listen to me. I brought you in my house knowing you'd been through violence. It was my foolishness that thought I could examine your wound without you waking like I did the first couple days.” Something flashed through her rainy eyes. “You are not to blame.”

My heart was still pounding from the fear, but as she kept eye contact, it began to ease: Her gaze was steady, neutral, and calming. I took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded, and she took her fingers from my chin.

She reached for the book I was in the middle of, and as she paged to my spot, I studied her face and neck for scars. I had touched something rough on her skin, but I saw nothing that matched it. Was that what the amulet she wore was for? She had evaded my question of a few days before, claiming she only used them when she needed them, but I could smell it, even if I couldn't see a cord around her neck. She pointed to a spot in the book with a questioning look, and when I nodded, she began to read.

I hadn't expected her to read to me; I'd thought she would rig some kind of contraption or maybe even hold the book for me, but not this. Her low, expressive voice gave life to the characters that I hadn't imagined, made the philosophical dilemmas more meaningful, the revelations more eloquent, somehow. I was able to close my eyes and envision Ender, the Hive Queen, and all the others without a physical page distracting me, and it was wonderful.

When she'd finished the chapter, I opened my eyes to see her looking at me with something that might have been sadness. It disappeared when she realized I was looking, and she smiled instead; one of her almost-smiles. “You should do that for money, you'd make millions,” I said, meaning it.

The smile widened into a real one, and she somehow looked vulnerable with her eyes crinkling at the corners. I realized it was because she so thoroughly kept her emotions off her face most of the time; they usually only showed in her voice, if at all. “That's sweet of you.” She said this softly, almost shy. “Did you want me to read another?”

“Silly question,” I said, smiling back. This time, as she read the next chapter, I knew I was falling asleep, and I dreamed of space travel and undiscovered planets.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day I got out of bed in time for breakfast. My calves didn't pain me as much as I walked through the hall, following the smell of sausage. I heard a voice singing a wistful tune, and I paused partway down to listen.

“Once upon another time,  
before I knew which life was mine  
before I left the child behind me

I saw myself in summer nights  
and stars lit up like candlelight  
I'd make my wish but mostly I'd believed

in yellow lines and tire marks  
in sunkissed skin and handlebars  
and where I stood was where I was to be

once upon another time  
decided nothing good in dying   
so I would just keep on driving  
because I was free.”

It could only be Nicki-- I didn't smell anyone else in the house. Her singing was smokey and sad, swelling into soulful on the lower notes; a bluesy voice, I decided. I crept backward until I was at the door frame, then walked down again, sniffing loudly as I did. I didn't want her to know that I'd heard her, because then she might not sing again where I could hear, and I wanted to hear more.

“Breakfast smells good,” I said, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen. “Can I help?” The table held a black-bound ledger stuffed with bits of paper that stuck out at odd angles. I moved to it. “I can just move this--”

Lightning-quick, Nicki's hand had smacked down on it and pulled it off the table. “I've got it, thanks,” she said, tone light. “Just have a seat, it's almost finished.” She tucked away the tray she used to bring me food and dished up the sausage. The eggs she pulled from one of the ovens, and split them unevenly between the two plates, handing the bigger portion to me.

“Thanks,” I said, as I eyed the difference. “You're not eating less because of me?”

“No,” she said, “but you're healing, and Weres tend to eat more than humans anyway.”

This was the end of breakfast conversation as we both tucked in, the silence only broken by a hum from Nicki when she realized I didn't have any coffee. When we had both finished, I asked, “What's on the agenda for today?”

She answered from the sink, setting our plates and the frying pan in to soak. “I thought you could move to the garage apartment so I can have my bedroom back, for starters.”

“Garage apartment?” That sounded awfully permanent. Was she offering me a place to stay?

Seeming to sense my confusion, she said, “If you want, that is. You're in decent enough shape to leave.”

I thought of my mother and her pride, and my lost job, and shook my head. “I don't really have anywhere...” I trailed off, not ready to finish the sentence out loud.

“That's what I figured,” she said easily. “I've mostly been using it for storage, but I cleared it out some the last few days, except for the furniture. You can pick what you want out of it.”

“Wow,” I said, not feeling eloquent enough for anything else. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome. But I have a few rules you absolutely must follow if you're going to stay.”

Her voice had gone deadly serious, and it made me curious. “Okay..”

“One, when I tell you I'm going to work outside, you need to stay in the apartment until I tell you you can come out. Two, you do not use the remote for the front gate without permission and warning. And finally, and most importantly, when you hear me say 'blackout', that means come into the house with me immediately, no matter what you're doing.”

“Okay. I'll do that,” I said, not understanding why. It was a strange and disconcerting list, and I blinked as I tried to puzzle out what the first and last rules implied. “Is it because it's dangerous out here?”

“There are very few places more dangerous to be,” she replied, gesturing for me to follow, but I noticed her answer didn't really fit the question I had asked.

We walked into the living room, to a door next to a wood stove. “This will be the easiest way to get out there.” She showed me a key ring with two keys on it, pointing to one of them, which I assumed unlocked this door. I followed her through to a gravel driveway that was on the opposite side of the house from the garden. A two-story, stick-built, two-car garage loomed, and Nicki led me to a door in its side. Using the other key to unlock the door, she waved me in.

The door went straight to a flight of stairs, and I began to climb. They weren't especially steep or narrow, but my injured body was fatigued by the time I'd reached the top. A second door stood open, and I wearily stepped through to a decently sized living room with another, albeit smaller wood stove in the corner and a kitchenette with a microwave, a hotplate, and a short refrigerator. A whitewashed door in the opposite wall led to another sizable room, and a third held a toilet and bathtub/shower combo.

It was a good-sized apartment, more space than I'd had to myself in my mother's house, and the furniture piled against the wall, while a bit old and worn, had enough pieces that I could make the rooms look less empty. I walked farther in, and spotted a queen mattress set in the second room.

“Is it okay?”

I turned with a look of disbelief. “It's got everything I need.” More than I needed, actually. It struck me that I didn't have anything to store in the free-standing wardrobe or the bathroom.

“Well, not everything,” Nicki said, her thoughts again seeming to echo my own. “We'll go shopping to get you some basics. Towels, sheets, some clothes, food. If you see something you like online, I can have it shipped to the store.”

“Online?” I asked, startled. “You have internet out here?”

“When I want to,” she said, and I sensed from her tone that it wasn't exactly a legal connection. “You look a bit pale now, but I bet you'll feel better after some sitting down in the car on the way. What size are you, a ten short? My clothes hang a little loose on you.”

I nodded, a little lost at the change of subject.

“Good, they'll have plenty for you to grab today. That way you won't have to keep borrowing mine.” She smiled wryly. “It's a really good thing you're not a vampire.”

And so we traipsed back down the stairs, Nicki stepping in the house for a moment to grab a shoulder bag and her keys. She pushed a button on one of the fobs, and the garage door lifted to reveal a silver Chevy Impala with paint flaking around the wheel wells. The other fob prompted a click, and she waved for me to get in, hopping into the driver's side and starting the engine with a muted roar. I noted as it idled that it had a strange rhythm, but shrugged to myself and got in. If she trusted it to get her through the wilds, then it was probably fine.

“I promise, it's in better condition than it sounds,” she said after we'd pulled out of the driveway, and I jumped.

“How do you do that?”

She chuckled. “You never immersed yourself in pack politics much, did you?”

“Well, no,” I admitted.

“I figured. Your thoughts cross your face like ripples in a pond.”

“Where yours rarely do at all,” I replied, a bit grumpily.

She nodded, not seeming to take offense. “It's a necessity.”

She didn't say anything else, and I was left to ponder that. Again I wondered what she did for a living; her little homestead was adequate for self-sufficiency as far as food, but had too many bells and whistles for her not to have paid work of some kind. The car might not look like much, but the engine easily jumped us up to eighty on the interstate, and the air conditioning was top-notch. And I couldn't even imagine the sum she'd paid for the charmed silver bars on her windows.

My thoughts of money caused me to glance over at her uncomfortably. “Nicki?”

“Hmm?” She kept her eyes on the road, but a subtle shift in her posture told me she was listening.

“I don't have any money to pay for all this stuff. My bank is only in Springfield, and it doesn't have that much in it anyway.”

“Don't worry. Since you're staying, I'll find something for you to do to help out.”

“But--” I protested, hearing the implication she'd pay for it all, “this is going to be hundreds of dollars. Clothes, bedding, bath stuff...”

“We'll look at sound systems and music, too, and books. You have to have something to do in your free time. You like movies?”

“Nicki,” I said, exasperated, “I can't pay for any of this. I'm not letting you get me fancy gadgets.”

But she continued like she hadn't heard me. “I don't know much about them, but if you like video games, I'm sure they'll have some.”

“Aren't you listening? I'm broke!”

“I hear you,” she said easily, “and I'm telling you not to worry about it. You can get whatever you want-- within reason, and as long as it'll fit in the car.”

I tried to protest more, but she simply sat in silence, ignoring me until I ran out of steam. “Fine,” I said, folding my arms as we cruised into the outskirts of Chicago. “Just fine.”

Shopping with Nicki was an interesting and exhausting experience. She insisted on looking through every department of the big box store, and asked me so many times if I needed random things that I almost wanted to smack her. More curiously, people didn't seem to notice she was there, looking at me if they looked in our direction at all-- though that could have been because of the pink rectangle on my neck and the cast on my arm.

She insisted that we both have carts because we were getting so many things, and I was grateful for the support. My calves, though they were healing well, were starting to ache with all the walking, and I was growing a headache. We had picked up hygiene stuff, bedding, curtains, and even looked through the toy section by the time we got to the electronics.

“Look at these!” she said, striding to the headphone display. “Look, they're Bluetooth-- you wouldn't even need a wire.”

“I don't have anything to pair them with,” I said tiredly.

“Oh, that's fixable.” She led me to the mp3 players, gesturing. “Pick one.”

I looked at the price tags, balking. “I don't have a computer to load the music on with.”

“Also not a problem, they have laptops over there,” she replied nonchalantly, waving her hand expansively.

“Nicki!” It had become a sort of tradition; she suggested something, I said I didn't need it or couldn't use it, she insisted, I scolded. The cost of this shopping trip was already in the several hundreds, and if I picked up headphones, a computer, and a music player, things were going to get out of hand quickly. “I don't need them.”

“But you want them,” she said enticingly. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“Nicki!” I said again, uselessly.

“Fine, I'll pick.” She reached under her shirt for a moment, an then, to my dismay, she called over a man with keys on his belt and had him help her pick out a set of shiny black headphones, a very expensive mp3 player, and a laptop, handing over the cash for them then and there.

_She has a thousand dollars in cash in her bag?_ Things were getting more suspicious by the minute. She was chatting to me and steering me along to the clothes as I tried to figure out where she'd gotten that kind of money. “You can look through my CDs for stuff you might like, and we can order more online if you want. Just the clothes left and we can take a break.”

There was more? “A break, huh?”

“You're looking a bit peaked. We'll stop for some lunch after this, and then hit the bookstore. I know you like to read, and there are a couple of shelves in the apartment that need filling.”

“You're enjoying this,” I half-grumbled, and it was true; Nicki had said more to me since we'd been in the store than I'd heard out of her mouth all week. I studied her face. Where most people would be flushed with excitement or exertion, her face was an even tone of pale as she guided me along. She almost didn't have any pores, so smooth was her complexion. It was strange, and I looked away before she could see me scrutinizing her.

“I don't go shopping much,” she said, half-dragging me as she spotted the womens' clothes. “I'd forgotten how much fun it is.”

She gave me the run of the department, and I complied with her instructions on minimums, but I didn't pick out anything extra; guilt at how much money she was spending on me was building uncomfortably.

“We won't worry about coats now,” she was saying as we headed to the checkout. “They'll have a better selection in a couple months, and it's only mid-June. It won't be cold enough to need one for a while.”

She kept up her chatter about necessities as I watched the total at the register climb-- and climb. All told, she'd spent almost two grand in just this store, and she still had two places more in mind. I tried not to gawk as she pulled yet more bills out of her wallet. The cashier wasn't trying so hard to hide it, and I sympathized with him; Nicki dressed like a single mother on a strict budget, but I spotted a still-thick wad of cash in the wallet's folds before she put it away.

“You're quiet,” she said once we were back in the car, driving toward lunch.

I was silent for a few moments, then decided to take the plunge. “Where'd you get all that money?”

“My work,” she answered promptly, though her tone had gone flat. “It pays well.”

“In cash?”

A minute tensing of the shoulders was the only signal she wasn't comfortable with this line of questioning. “I don't trust banks.”

“You're asking for a mugging.”

“With this car and these clothes?”

She was right; the car was a common, cheap one, worn at the edges, and so were her clothes. No jewelry said no money, and her hair, while straight and clean, was cut unevenly, like she'd done it herself. “You do that on purpose.”

“Damn right I do,” she said, her tone harsh for a reason I couldn't fathom.

“Sorry,” I said,not understanding why.

She sighed. “No, I'm sorry. I live alone, except for the pixies. I'm not used to all these questions. It's not a good idea to ask them out where I stay.”

It was the truest answer I'd gotten from her since I'd woken up in her bed; I realized she hadn't asked what I'd done to get banned from my pack, or even my last name, and it dawned on me that I didn't know hers, either. “What's your last name?”

“Jones. We're here.”

“Here” was a little corner deli with a cheery red-and-white canopy over a tiny outdoor eating area and a wooden sign that said “Joe's Eats”.

“Warlock Joe?” I questioned as we got out of the car, and she nodded. We walked in to the scent of fresh-baked bread and coffee, and my stomach rumbled.

“Nicki!” a voice heralded joyfully. “You came to see me again!”

An uncharacteristic smile bent her mouth. “Georgie, you know I only come for the fresh produce.”

A short, stout man waddled his way around the counter, winking at me. His balding head inclined in my direction. “It all comes from her garden,” he said conspiratorially. “Of course she comes here.” Turning back to her, he asked, “The usual today?”

When she nodded, he looked back at me. “You want a BLT, too?”

“Sure,” I said, looking around the little deli. Mini pastries were laid in rows in a clear display shelf, and a basket to the side held apples. A massive espresso machine dominated the back counter, next to a sink half-full of snack plates and mugs.

As he bustled around, making the sandwiches, Nicki asked, “How's business?”

“Oh, good, good,” Georgie answered cheerfully. “The morning rush ran my socks off, and we're almost out of cornbread now. Joey even came in to help, bless him.” His voice grew unsatisfied. “But that new kid isn't working out. Too lazy.” I heard the sizzle of bacon, and he added, with a side-eye in my direction, “And your order is in the back.”

She murmured an excuse and ducked into the little doorway, leaving me alone with Georgie. “So, you're the new hire she's been talking about,” he said conversationally, his little hands busy with washing lettuce. “What do you do?”

“Oh, uh,” I said, not sure what to answer. I picked a table, stalling. “Well, I was an accountant before.”

This seemed to please him, and he made enthusiastic noises. “Good. I don't have the slightest head for numbers, and Joey is so busy all the time. Nicki only pokes her little head out for deliveries.”

As if summoned, she emerged from the back. “What's that?”

“You didn't tell me you'd gotten someone to keep the books,” he said, scolding mildly. He brought out the plates and set them at the little corner table. “It's about time, too.”

For once, Nicki looked flustered. “Oh, that's--” she said, cutting herself off. “Right,” she said, resigned, after a moment's hesitation.

“And with a history as an accountant, shouldn't take too much teaching,” he went on, oblivious. “You can take the ledger home today to get started, dear,” he added to me, smiling.

She sat at the table, looking a bit shell-shocked. “An accountant?” she murmured after he'd wandered off to start on the dishes.

I shrugged. “You never asked what I did, and you weren't here to answer for me.”

“An accountant,” she said again, musingly, staring at her food. After a few moments, she seemed to make a decision. She picked up her sandwich and pinned me with a hard look before taking a bite. “I just hope you're discreet.”

Even if I wasn't, that glance told me I'd better learn how, and I wondered what, exactly, I was getting into.

The trip to the bookstore was quieter than the others, and I had a feeling Nicki had a lot to think about. The only thing she said once we got in was, “Please pick whatever you want,” before wandering to the science fiction section.

When we got to the counter, I set my basket down; I'd picked up titles at random, sticking to ones that had a lot of sequels except a non-fiction of Rachel Morgan which promised the real story behind the freeing of the demons. Nicki had a few purchases of her own, but when she saw that one, I thought I saw her flinch before the pleasantly blank face slid down.

The car ride back was subdued, almost awkward. After an hour, the quiet began to chafe, and I gathered my guts. “What were you doing out in the middle of nowhere the night you found me?”

She glanced over briefly, then turned back to the road. “Hunting.”

“On the full moon? Isn't that dangerous?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, but the Weres scare the game out of hiding. Where do you think I got that venison?”

Okay, but... “How did you find me?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “I shadow packs when I hunt. Yours was being unusually rowdy, so I went to investigate after they'd left, and there you were. You weren't dead, so I went and got the car and took you home.”

I sat back, impressed. She had to have decent skills to keep up with a Were pack when they were running the moon. But it was a few minutes before I asked the next one.

“How bad was I?”

Her brow twitched down before she answered. “Bad. You were all over blood. I could barely tell what was actual injuries until I washed you up.”

I gathered that meant she had seen me naked; I flushed involuntarily. Surging on in hopes she wouldn't notice, I said, “So now I have to ask... why? Why would you bring me into your house? For all you knew, I was a murderer.”

Her shrug was too quick to convince me. “I told you, I take in strays.”

I frowned. “I want the real answer.”

She was quiet for so long, I didn't think I was going to get one at all, but then she said, voice quiet, “I can't tell you that. I'm sorry.” She cleared her throat nervously. “Just please understand...” She stopped, seeming unsure of how to continue. Finally, she said, “I'm not trying to trick you, okay? It's just personal.”

It was only the vulnerability in her voice that kept me from insisting.

* * *

I was surprised into wakefulness when Nicki said, “We're here.”

I started, looking through the windshield with gummy eyes. I blamed them when I saw... “Nicki? What happened to your house?” From the outside, the homestead looked horrible; the garage was half caved-in, and the tall barbed-wire fence sagged and leaned. The house had holes in the roof, and it all looked like it had been abandoned for years. The garden was... gone.

She almost-smiled, letting out a little grunt. “You'll see.” She punched a remote clipped to the visor, and the dilapidated gate opened. We drove through, and the buildings shimmered back to the way we had left them, though the garden didn't reappear.

I blinked. “Magic?”

She nodded, that little smile still on her face. “Mostly. I added it after the last break-in. Haven't had one since.”

I could see why not; the illusion had been utterly convincing, as long as you were outside the gate. “Does it work from the air?”

“Yep, but it doesn't account for heat signatures. I had to get creative for the infrared guns.”

“I didn't realize they still scan out here,” I said, impressed.

“Oh, only when there's an escaped criminal or something like that, which is pretty often.”

She helped me carry the new stuff up to the apartment and move the furniture where I wanted it, then gave me an intense look. “I'm going to work in the garden now.”

“Got it, stay inside.” I had plenty to do, anyway; my new clothes and bedding had to be washed and put away, and the books were waiting to be shelved. There was a washer-dryer combo in the kitchenette, and Nicki had bought me detergent and dryer sheets.

She nodded, then pulled a little flip phone from her bag. “Mine is the only number in there. Text if you need anything, but please don't use it for anything else.” She set it and a slip of paper on the bookshelf and left.

Curious, I went to the windows after she left, but any view of the garden was blocked by the house, and I didn't spot her past the fence. Shrugging to myself, I got to work putting the new pieces of my life in their places.

By the time an hour had passed, I had exhausted myself again, and grumbling to myself about my weakness, I sat on the little love seat with the laptop. The slip of paper ended up being the wi-fi password, and after I'd set up the laptop, I tried to log in to my old pack's forum. _Deleted user_ blinked at me from the notification box, and I sighed, closing the lid.

I toyed with the idea of getting a message to my mom, but ultimately decided I should just play dead. However strange and tense this new life with Nicki was shaping up to be, it was better than going back home and seeing the derision on the faces of the people I'd once been important to.

And Nicki, weird and closed-off as she was, had been kind to me. More than kind, really. I would follow her odd rules; I would try not to ask so many questions; I would do whatever as long as I was with someone who treated me as a person.

My chest hurt as I looked at my unfamiliar surroundings. I blamed it on my sore ribs, but even with the blessing that Nicki was, I knew I was missing the home I could never go back to.


	4. Chapter 4

I spent the next couple of days getting the apartment in order and exploring the fenced homestead. Besides the garage, the house, and the garden, there were several sheds and a barn, all locked, and an old, defunct chicken coop that I thought the pixies lived in, as well as a door-sized gate to a disorganized-looking apple orchard. No other houses marred the flats around her home, the place surrounded by old corn and soybean fields long left fallow. A few stands of trees peppered the landscape, but that was all; Nicki lived in extreme isolation.

On the third day, Nicki sat with me in her cushy living room and showed me the ledgers. There were four in all: The one she had pulled away from me in the kitchen, the one Georgie had given me, another with a dark green cover and gold binding that looked very official, and a worn one that had “Photos” embossed on the cover.

“This one--” and she indicated the brown one from the deli-- “is the one that details the official activities of Joe's Eats. This--” the black one-- “is the one that shows everything that moves through there. This monster--” she hefted the dark green one-- “is the official version of all my other business, and that last one that says photos is the real master for them.”

“You cook your books,” I said, a squirmy feeling in my stomach. “You do something illegal.” It was also odd that she had physical books-- most businesses had gone to digital accounting.

“I do a lot of illegal things-- but nothing immoral,” she added. “I sell the meat from my poaching, I salvage from abandoned homes and sell the good pieces and materials, and I launder the money through the deli. I also have some legitimate business, like selling my produce. But the biggest thing I do is broker marijuana sales.”

Marijuana was big among humans; Inderland typically didn't indulge, Brimstone and bane filling that void. Research on marijuana had been swept up in the general ban on genetic manipulation, and the drug, although generally known as non-harmful, remained illegal along with all the harder ones.

“So you have the official versions in case the FIB or I.S. comes knocking.” It dawned on me that her “order” at the deli had probably been something illicit, recalling Georgie's side-eye.

“They haven't yet,” she said, sounding relieved, “but Georgie was right when he said we needed someone to do this for us. I'm smart, but my knowledge on numbers mostly has to do with engineering, and Georgie's talents lie elsewhere.”

The way she said this made me wonder if there was something the pudgy little man did besides cook. “Nicki...” I wasn't sure I was comfortable with this; I had never cooked books before, only spotted a few instances where someone else was, and though I had a decent understanding of how it was done, I wasn't sure I could bring myself to do it.

“Look, if you can't, I get it. We can just tell Georgie you didn't work out,” she said, probably going from the troubled look on my face. “But you're an accountant, and I... I could really use your help.”

Some change in her voice made me look up; I thought she looked worried, but mostly it had been the insecurity in her tone. She was taking a risk, I knew, telling me what she did, but she had asked for my help anyway. I had a feeling she rarely made herself so vulnerable. “I'll try,” I said finally, pulling the re-purposed photo album to me, hoping she had a consistent notation system.

* * *

I spent several days learning her system and streamlining it, creating a key so she and Georgie could memorize what the new, more consistent abbreviations meant. It was slow going without my usual software and the ability to digitize, and I was all the way through the deli's dual books and halfway into the other master before I called uncle.

“The deli is one thing, but this master book... it's a mess,” I said apologetically. “This would be made a lot easier if I could use my laptop--”

“No computers.” Nicki's tone brooked no argument. “They can be hacked.”

“I could keep offline until I was done and then erase the data.”

She shook her head. “Data can be reconstructed. The hard drive would have to be completely destroyed.”

“Well...” I sat for a moment, thinking. “Have any old computers you're not planning on keeping?”

She bit her lip, considering, then stood and walked to the guest room off the hall. I'd never been in there, but I understood it was essentially a catch-all, and she walked back out a few minutes later holding a thick, ancient-looking laptop. She opened it up for me and set it on the table, plugging in the cord. It was so old, it had one of those red cursor knobs in the middle of the keyboard instead of a mouse touch-pad.

“It takes ten minutes to boot up, but it's got the capability for spreadsheets, and as long as you don't ask too much of it at a time, it should do okay.” She smiled a little. “And it can't go online. It needs a wireless card.”

My eyebrows rose; damn, this thing was a relic. But it was better than nothing. “Thanks.”

I pushed the power button on it, pulling the ledgers back to me to plan my approach. Nicki's voice came to me from the kitchen. “And Lacey?”

“Yeah?” I said, distracted.

“Please don't go snooping in my old files. They're...” She paused. “They're private.”

“Of course not,” I said, only half-paying attention. _This column will have to be moved..._

“I mean it,” she said, voice suddenly hard.

I looked up, startled; her expression was more intense than I'd ever seen it. “I did, too. I'll stay out of them.”

She seemed to settle at that, but when I turned back to the books, temptation ran strong through me. I squashed it firmly. If I went snooping, I would be violating one of the unwritten rules: no questions. It wouldn't matter that I was asking a computer instead of Nicki; she would be furious.

* * * * *

The days passed quickly, now that I had a task. I visited the deli once a week to update the “official” books and took the additional information home to add to the master. I had finally conquered the old photo album, and added to it several times a week, when Nicki brought new receipts and transactions. She always had the books ready when I needed them; I did not know where they were kept. When I asked, Nicki explained the plan should the authorities come knocking.

“If I give you the signal, when they ask, you tell them that I held the medical intervention over your head and made you my captive. I've already installed locks on the garage apartment that can only be locked from the outside. Just tell them that I locked you in there unless I needed you to do the books.” She saw the alarm on my face and held out placating hand. “Not that I would ever use them, of course.”

I let my doubt linger on my face. “ _If_ you give me the signal?”

She nodded. “If I don't, then you play dumb. Say you voluntarily worked for me, but only worked on two ledgers for me. Then describe the official versions. That way you can pretty much tell the truth: How you travel to the deli once a week, how I bring you the other book.”

“It's a decent plan, but...” I shook my head. “If they examine all four books, they're going to see that they were done by the same person. The same handwriting, same system, everything.”

“If that happens, then I'm busted anyway and I'll give you the signal. The second scenario is if they just come to do a standard inspection.”

“And if they discover something in the two books that leads to an investigation, and they find the others?”

“Then I'll give you the signal, and you break down crying and act afraid and tell them the 'real' version.” She gave a wry smile. “I hope you're better at acting than you seem.”

The whole conversation had left me with an uneasy feeling, but I knew I was too deep in to remove myself without leaving altogether, and I didn't want to do that. Nicki had secrets, and I had a feeling they weren't good, but I also knew that I was happy here; except for when she worked outside-- doing whatever she did out there that I wasn't allowed to see-- I pretty much had the run of the place, and she seemed glad on the evenings when I stayed after dinner and we talked for hours in her homey living room.

It was three full moons before I found out what happened during a blackout; I was sitting in the garden, reading to some of the pixies in the afternoon sunlight-- who knew they had a fondness for fantasy novels?-- when Nicki poked her head out the door.

“Blackout,” she said, and that one word was imbued with urgency and seriousness.

The pixies on my shoulders immediately scattered with a painful screech of wings, and soon the garden was swarming with them. I grabbed my book and hurried inside, alarmed and curious. Before Nicki closed the shutters, I saw the entire clan working to pull some kind of net over the garden.

She sat in one of the recliners, and I picked a spot on the couch. “Don't go outside until it's over,” Nicki said tersely, but not like she was angry; she seemed to be concentrating very hard on something. After a few moments, the tension in her shoulders eased. I could smell nervous sweat. “I'll be right back.”

She walked to the hallway and disappeared; not knowing what was allowed, I stayed put until she returned. She came back with two small handheld devices, one of them with a large screen. The other seemed to be a radio of some kind; when she turned up the volume, I realized it was a scanner from the static and police chatter. She leaned near me to set it on the coffee table, noticing that the sweat smell had lessened. The screen she held in her lap and watched, occasionally tweaking one of the controls.

“Cameras?” I guessed.

“Three for the sky, three for the roads.”

“All clear?”

She shook her head, her eyes never leaving the screen. “It's aerial today. They've got two choppers up there. From what I'm hearing, at least one of them has thermal.”

“But you have something for that, right?” I seemed to remember her saying something about it just after I'd arrived, but I couldn't keep the worry from my voice.

“I do,” she said, anxiety threading her tone. “But it hasn't been tested until now.”

“Oh.” I wished I didn't know about her illegal business; the knowledge seemed to curdle in my stomach as we waited. It was a long time until she spoke again.

“If they find us, don't look for my signal. Just go with the captive plan. They'll find everything.” There was a quiet resolution to her voice, a calm futility, and it sparked recognition in me. I had heard that voice, that same quality of tone, before. But where? I knew I had never met her before three months ago when I woke up in her house, so where had I heard her?

I wrestled with that thought as we went on waiting, the puzzle a welcome distraction, but I couldn't place it. I was still trying to remember when I heard her let out a long breath. “They're gone.”

The release of pent-up adrenaline left me sagging. I could only watch as she opened the shutters one by one, then cracked the door and shouted the all-clear to the pixies. She came back to the living room and sat heavily in the recliner; her now-familiar scent of old leather laced with redwood puffing into the air around her.

“So it worked,” I said, the words taking effort.

I was glad I'd expended the energy when her face lit up, stormy eyes sparkling with victory over a wide, toothy grin. “It worked.”

My stomach fluttered at that look. “So next time it won't be so scary,” I managed, knowing what that feeling meant and trying to make it go away.

She seemed to catch something on my face or in my voice, and she looked at me oddly, but simply said, “Nope.”

I went to bed that night feeling very uncertain.

I knew what that flutter in my middle meant, and it scared me: It was the thing that had gotten me kicked out of my pack, and if I wasn't careful, it might lose me my new home, too. _Why did you have to go and start falling for her?_

I had two options. The first was to ignore the feeling and pretend it wasn't there. I had tried this already, in another situation, and it hadn't worked out very well. Her name had been Grace, another Were, and we had worked together for half a year at my old job. She had had crooked canines and beautiful chocolate-brown eyes set over a too-large nose and rosy cheeks. She hadn't been classically good-looking, but she had an awkward charm and a sweetness that had worked slowly but surely on my heart.

I'd realized my feelings about four months in, and as I tried to act normal, our formerly easy banter had become forced and full of uncomfortable silences. In trying to push away my feelings, I'd ended up ruining our friendship, and as soon as she'd had the option, she chose to work with someone else, and I'd been paired with the most boring drone in the office for my last two years.

I often wondered if she had figured it out; we would pass each other occasionally in the halls, and she had avoided eye contact. I wondered now if I chose this route with Nicki, if she would figure it out, too, and how she would react.

Of course, I could always just tell her. But if she didn't react well, I might have to leave.

I groaned and rolled over. Neither option was attractive. My little problem was further complicated by the fact that Nicki was not a normal human; she was a human with secrets that were most likely dangerous, and she kept them between herself and the world. Even if she did end up being interested, she wouldn't let herself get involved.

Sleep didn't come for a long time.


End file.
